


All that Matters

by coveredinbees9



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Extra creepy-sprinkles Master, Not A Fix-It, Post-Episode: s04e13 Journey's End, Post-Time War, Someone Help Ten, Suicidal Thoughts, Ten Needs a Hug, The Master is a creeper, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:09:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6278413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredinbees9/pseuds/coveredinbees9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor contemplates his role in his companion's lives. Sarah Jane through Donna. Train of thought narrative. Trigger Warning for suicidal thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All that Matters

**Author's Note:**

> As I said in the summary, this is a train-of-thought narrative so it's a bit choppy and disjointed. Sentences begin with contractions (this seriously hurt my inner grammar nazi) and other things they're not supposed to start with. I was trying to convey his jumbled thought process. Lemme know in the cooments section if you like this, or hated this, or what I could do to improve it.

Everyone dies.

 

They decay and wither away—leaving him alone again. Or they end in fire and chaos.

 

Both were his fault. Or neither, he doesn’t know anymore—but he still blames himself.

 

He left Sarah Jane as she smiled, and after the war he was a different person—literally and figuratively. And he couldn’tcouldn’tcouldn’t go back or her. What if she looked at him and saw exactly what she had helped him fight? Because he was no better than them now. (He called himself The Doctor but it was a lielielie).

 

How many children?

 

It didn’t matter. (It was all that mattered.)

 

They were all children. (But how many?) Squabbling over what part of the universe belonged to whom.

 

He never felt older that when he was flipping that switch, leaving another behind.

 

It became an accomplishment to leave them before they were just headstones. (How many now?)

 

He couldn’t pick up the gun, couldn’t lest he put the barrel in his mouth and pullpullpull. The sword was okay because he was new yet, and the gold energy fairly sparkled in his eyes and veins. The weight and numbers had yet to set in.

 

No second chances, nonenonenone.

 

And Rose. Beautiful, strong, fierce Rose. He couldn’t touch. (So close; but no.) If he touched he would never let go, and she too would end as another headstone. Another grave he would never visit. He was how it hurt her, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t ever.

 

Jack. He would never be a headstone, but his presence hurt and made his skin crawl, (wrongwrongwrong). And he had done Jack wrong. Abandoned him among dust and silence and Jack still hated him for that. Couldn’t blame him.

 

Martha. When he realized how much he was hurting her, he needed her too much, and she left. Left him alone after he had held his best friend and worst enemy in his arms—blood seeping into his clothing to stain his skin an even darker red (All the blood on his hands could rise up and drown him). The last of his race once again. Martha left him alone to watch the pyre smoke curl against the blueblue sky. He could understand that too, he was dangerous to be around and what sane person would stay after seeing what he was?

 

And _Donna_ —brilliant, amazing, stunning Donna. The most important woman in the entire universe and she had never understood that. Will never understand that. He had held her face in his hands as he killed everything that she had become—to save everything that she was.

 

He calculated once again how long it would take for a star to burn the Tardis to ash, himself inside. How long until he could finally just _stop._ He mapped a course and pulled a lever but the Tardis took him someplace else—protecting him from himself.

 

“She was better with you.”

 

The reverse was so much more true. He had never thought of ending himself while with her. He hadn’t even imagined her ending. All the calculations and plotted courses, the contemplations of guns and razor blades ending as he let himself just enjoy what he had never had before.

 

He had loved her. Not a romantic love, but a love full of desperate loneliness. In all his life he had never had a sibling, never had a sister who could look at him and know exactly what he needed, and vice versa. The weight of a hundred billion lost lives lifted from his shoulders.

 

Before Donna he hopped from destination to destination, saving people and stopping villains before the thoughts of guns or razors could catch up. Donna had gotten him to relax, the went to beaches and ski resorts. They had spent days having fun instead of fighting or running.

 

After he had violated her mind, taking away her choice, he had run faster and father than he ever had because if he stopped the calculations would overwhelm him and he would make himself stop for good. ("At what sound frequency exactly does a Time Lord's brain become putty?" he asks himself while contemplating his ever present Sonic Screwdriver).

 

He threw himself into saving worlds and people—trying to even those heavily weighted scales.

 

He had been better with her.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm an awful person, I know. Let me know how awful I am in the comment section below. There'll prolly be at least one more chapter from The Master's POV. He's an extra-creepy bear and I'd like to try my hand at writing him.


End file.
